Into The Woods (Part 29)

Sitting in the dirt, leaning against the massive tree limb that just ambushed today’s journey, I read the slip of paper once more  -- for I know that this shall turn to my salvation through your prayer, and the supply of the Spirit of Jesus Christ -- then let it drop from my hand. I stare at it on the ground and remember when he gave it to me; I hadn’t believed him that it would help. I wonder if he believed in me when he gave it to me or if he was simply doing what he was supposed to do.

I mumble into the distance, “God, if you’re there . . . I need a way to believe.”

Pushing myself to my feet, I brush the woods from my scrapped elbows and knees then retie my tennis shoes. My backpack in place and my gaze set ahead, I begin . . . again. After several steps, I go back to the tree limb, pick up the paper and shove it in my pocket.

The woods are puffy and tawny with daylight, the kind that’s too bright to see well in the dark areas and too dim to do much good anywhere else. It seems I’ve been lost such a long, long time but that I’ve been here such a short time. This portion of the woods is stiff and constraining, each step a grinding shade of gray shooting up my legs. I can’t do this. I take another step and my foot twists deep into the sodden decomposition of the forest. This is what I can’t do. I pull myself forward, past a throne bush, ducking under low hanging branches. I can’t do this anymore.

This. Everyone has their own this. That grisly thing that’s turning them, twisting and ringing them toward an escape. Paul’s this was a prison term; someone else’s this might be a wandering through the woods. But I wonder, if this is this hard now, what will I feel like at fifty years old? Or twenty pounds overweight? Or facing a terminal illness? All while waiting for this to turn on its heel and . . . what does that paper say again?

 I reach in my pocket and pull out the slip of paper, reading it again – I appreciate your willingness to continue the journey despite the struggle, to me this is a good indicator that you can continue to make progress -- I shove my hand back into my pocket. There’s nothing else there. His handwriting is the same but the message is different. I look behind. He isn’t there. I look above and around. He’s nowhere. I read it again . . . he believes I can do this.

Comments

[julie]

Trisha, I miss you, Sista!!! You're such a faithful reader of my musings. I love you to death. Be encouraged because our God IS faithful!! Consider yourself hugged!

[julie]

Keiki, you're welcome! thanks for reading...I am thrilled to have you here.

[Tricia]

I needed this. I don't think I can make it "there" but today I will crawl a bit farther. I love you. You give me strength.

[Keiki Hendrix]

Julie... such insight. I am working on my 'this' as we speak. Thanks fir this.